terrierista

The possibly unsolvable problem of polls

Polls are a problem for which there may be no solution.

Today is Iowa caucus day. Pollsters have been working double shifts for weeks. Will Obama pull ahead of Clinton? Will somebody--anybody--pull ahead in the Republican race? As of last night, results of the Reuters/C-SPAN/Zogby poll predict that today the results will be Obama-Edwards-Clinton for the Democrats and Huckabee-Romney for the Democrats.

What's the public value of poll results? I understand the value to candidates who appear to be in the lead; it's just one more way for them to say to the rest, "Give it up. The people want me," months before the election. And I understand the value to candidates who appear to be behind; it alerts them to look for ways they can drastically change their core principles in order to be more appealing.

But it seems to me that the effect of poll results on the general public is merely to skew the next poll result and, ultimately, the election. People leaning toward the candidate polling highest will feel vindicated; people leaning toward a candidate polling low will question their choice (who likes to waste a vote on a loser?); and the undecideds will find themselves liking the poll winners more and more, even if they consciously fight the impulse. (Can thousands of people be wrong?)

Polls skew election results. We're only human. We react to information.

What to do? Publishing poll results will never be outlawed: after all, this is America, and if the First Amendment to the Constitution gives us the "right" to Internet porn and prime-time erectile dysfunction commercials, it certainly also gives us the right to know poll results. Only a voting citizenry that elects officeholders based on their past actions rather than the things they say on-camera will be immune to the lemming call of poll results.

Which is why I'm skeptical about solving this particular problem.

(flickr photo by enfocar1200)

The two best early Christmas gifts EVER!

I hit the jackpot in terms of Christmas gifts today. From Nancy: A lovely bullshit button such as the one shown at left. Afterward, I visited cnn.com--so I've already had to replace the batteries twice. From my doctor: A shot of steroids in the gluteus maximus to rid me of a miserable allergic rash (from an unfortunate choice of moisturizer). It's hard to say which gift I'm more grateful for. I simply know that I'm blessed.

"Peace on earth, good will to men--and oh, by the way, I'm holier than thou, you sanctimonious bastards"

January 3 is the Iowa primary. Personal religion is a topic of great interest to the media, if not to the voting public. Because the candidates are conditioned to keep their lips flapping on camera--it's not just part of the White House job description, it's part of Living in America--they're the most entertaining thing going on these days.

United Church of Christ member Barack Obama accuses evangelicals of being divisive. Baptist minister Mike Huckabee accuses Mormon Mitt Romney of devil worship. Methodist Hillary Clinton says her faith saved her marriage to Serial Adulterer Bill Clinton. Catholic Rudy Guiliani tells us all to MOOFB. The Christmas excitement is palpable. Visions of sound-bites dance in their heads.

In contrast, my friend Kristen Ridley brought to my attention a lovely little Letter from Jesus making the email and Internet rounds this year. I particularly like #10: "Finally, if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to Me, then behave like a Christian. Don't do things in secret that you wouldn't do in My presence. Let people know by your actions that you are one of mine."

Indeed.

Michael Vick, part 2: This is not rocket science

Guys who breed dogs specifically to fight are not guys who treat their wives and kids with tender love. Guys who enjoy torturing helpless creatures aren't guys who limit those activities to the kennel. Guys who enjoy watching two dogs rip each other to shreds are not good neighbors or citizens. Guys who believe they're above the law for any reason are a menace. When they bring home $10 million per year for throwing a funny little ball, they're twice the menace.

What part of this is so hard for us to understand? Why would the NFL even consider bringing Vick back when he gets out of prison? And why didn't the judge give him the five years instead of 23 piddling months (20 with good behavior)?

(photo on flickr by victornado)

20 months in the slammer won't fix Vick

Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick was sentenced yesterday to 23 months in federal prison for sponsoring pit bull fighting (which is illegal) on his property, torturing losing dogs to death, and using marijuana while out on bond. He has also been "suspended indefinitely" by the Falcons. (One wonders what it would take to make the NFL actually fire a player.)

Vick & Friends engaged in all the barbarism that goes along with dog fighting and then creatively killed losing dogs by strangling, electrocution, drowning, and God only knows what other methods. Farmers and ranchers, being supremely practical folks, "put down" animals that are sick, hurt, no longer useful, or costing them money. It's a chore, not something they enjoy. One bullet to the brain out behind the barn and it's over. That's not what Vick was doing. This creep with a six-year, $62 million contract was getting his rocks off by tormenting animals to death.

Two of Vick's codefendents received sentences of 18 and 21 months, and lots of Internet articles wonder why Vick's sentence was so comparatively "stiff." (Other articles maintain that he "deserves" the chance to play football again when he gets out of prison, which could be in as few as 20 months.) Vick has issued a public apology and is "voluntarily" paying almost $1 million to care for the battered dogs that managed to live through the carnage. One of Vick's attorneys said, "(Vick) understood that some of the things he was doing in life and off the field were dangerous, and he told me he feels lucky that he's alive and not hurt and now it's all about the future."

Yeah, see, it's still all about Vick, isn't it? He's glad he's alive and not hurt. It's all about his future. He'll do his time, maybe make a few more millions playing football when he gets out, and he's determined to behave a little better to avoid all this irritation in the future.

This is a very rich man who can't control himself enough to avoid obscene gestures to disappointed fans, give up pot for a few months, or keep himself from enjoying the heady pleasure of watching dogs maul each other and then strangling the survivors. He--and his codefendents--deserve serious jail time but then need years and years of closely monitored psychiatric therapy. We and the dogs have the right to be safe from the Michael Vicks of the world.

(photo on flickr by Palmea)

Gotta get me a Caddy

Advertising doesn't get any better than in this Cadillac ad. "When you turn your car on, does it return the favor?" (sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth) Yowza! I want one. I want one now.

(photo on flickr by Pinch My Salt)

Why I love Tim Gunn

In a word, manners--which, until I noticed Tim, seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

Sports superstars of all species posture and gesture and foam at the mouth over every imagined issue and non-issue. Boys and girls from solid middle-class families sound like gangbangers and NBA gods. Talk show guests and reality show contestants--even those on Project Runway, where Tim Gunn is Everybody's Mentor--talk trash and search for opportunities to get nostril-flaring furious at each other.

It's an mad, mad world. Angry as Hell.

Then comes Tim Gunn. He's brainy, handsome, dapper, fastidious; I bet he smells wonderful up close. He's got a belly laugh and a worried frown. He tells contestants hard things in a kind way--but he tells them, if they need to be told. As Everybody's Mentor, he performs episodic miracles of unadulterated, disinterested good will toward all contestants.

Never--never--does an obscenity or near-obscenity pass his lips. Occasionally he gets exercised about some fashion atrocity about to be perpetrated, but only because he really likes the perpetrator--and his manners never leave him. Somebody's mother did a good job.

I wish Tim Gunn were my neighbor, my car-pool partner, my shrink. (I'd say "personal fashion guide" but I'm beyond even his help.) He cares passionately about his work, genuinely likes everyone, speaks his mind out of affection, doesn't hold grudges. He hates boredom, mediocrity, dishonor, and laziness.

What a perfect little terrier!

It just makes me happy

This fall I started teaching grammar at a state-system community college. In the student gathering area near the door of my building, a Christmas tree appeared over the weekend and, leaning against the wall nearby, a waist-high plywood cutout painted with a manger scene: Mary, Joseph, baby, big star. The manger scene looks a little worn, as if it's been displayed for years.

It nonplussed me. We all try very hard to be "sensitive" to the minorities in our midst, and during the 20 years I worked in a state agency we decked our halls with all the Christmas accoutrements but never anything religious (unless you count the secretary who had a Nativity set made of porcelain Teddy bears. Yes. I was working up my courage to ask her if she'd be displaying a little crucified Teddy bear at Easter when she removed the whole shebang from her desk. Apparently someone braver than I had made his or her feelings known.) Now here's this big honkin' manger scene on a state school campus.

It makes me happy as it leans there all careworn and hand-painted. We're a Christian nation and North Dakota is a Lutheran-and-Catholic state and Christ-Mass is a Christian holiday. It's a relief not to have to pretend otherwise. If the Jews and Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists among us--their numbers are minuscule but growing each year--want to invite the rest of us to share their holidays, I'll happily join in. What are we all so angry about all the time, anyway?

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying what I pray isn't just someone's mistake. Let's hope the plywood's still there on Monday.

(photo on flickr by gigglypaws)

Myopia: the new national pastime

These days, it's red-hot to be green. That's the good news. The bad news, the sad news, is that we're becoming a race of ignorant asses.

Jean-Paul Sartre said, "Hell is other people." Anyone stuck on a desert island with Sartre might have said that that was hell. According to biographers, he was focused myopically (and also, of course, strabismally) on one thing: himself. His own intellect. His own superiority. His own rights and rightness and righteousness.

Myopic vision is a national pastime these days. We're surrounded by avid environmentalists with no sense of humor, powerful people who practice no random acts of kindness, talented people with no realistic sense of perspective about their own limited importance, and emotional people who denigrate facts. We can save all the whales we want and still live in a hell of our own devising.

IMHO, it's at least as important to be kind as to be green. Let's listen more intently, judge more slowly, stick to the facts, mind our manners at all times, and have at least one belly laugh each day at our own expense. If we do these things, we'll naturally become better stewards of this desert island we share.

(photo on flickr by Chris Gentle)

I know when I've got it good

This month, Ragan Communications published an article of mine in its Journal of Organizational Communication Management. My article, entitled, "The Few, the Proud, the Bullshit Eradicators," was solicited by editor David Murray, who said--and I paraphrase only slightly--"Write me something about bullshit in the workplace. Oh, and you can use the word as many times as you want."

How often does a writer hear that?

Photo on flickr by All-Mighty